


Beating Like A Hammer

by skybound2



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mass Effect Kink Meme, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybound2/pseuds/skybound2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus doesn't know if she is real, or a hallucination, but when Shepard storms back into his life on Omega, he finds that he doesn't much care. He just knows that he's not letting her go again, not if he can help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You're Still Alive

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note** : Originally wrote this as a fill for the kinkmeme. The prompt requested a more intense Garrus/F!Shepard reunion during the Omega Archangel recruitment mission. Specifically, they asked for Garrus to have a sudden breakdown in Shepard's arms, and for the inclusion of fluff/sex if possible. I did my absolute best to provide. Because this follows the recruitment mission, some dialogue has been borrowed directly from the game. Posting this in four parts as I edit it for mass consumption. (So probably a post a day, I'd wager.) The title of the piece, and the chapter titles, are taken from the song "Help I'm Alive" by _Metric_. Hope you enjoy!  
> [Russian Translation Available ](http://garrus.tk/publ/fanfikshen/perevody/beating_like_a_hammer_glava_1/3-1-0-519) by [Ketara](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2713510/Ketara) (Authorized)

* * *

**Part 1: If You're Still Alive**

* * *

There's a moment when he first locks eyes on her through the scope, this vision in blood-splattered armor that he has yearned to see for two years, when Garrus thinks that his subtle flirtation with insanity and his blatant courtship with death have finally borne fruit. His finger freezes on the trigger as he watches her hop over a low wall, snag a merc and put him down with a punch that looks like it snapped his neck.

The action takes his breath away.

He shakes his head, blinks; certain that when he looks back again she'll be gone. But no. No she's still there, moving methodically forward. Her pace slow, careful. Precise.

It's taking too damn long.

"Shepard..."

She doesn't hear him of course. Doesn't even look his way, too focused on the battle around her - as well she should be. But more than anything, he wants to see her eyes. _Needs_ to see her eyes, because if he really has lost it, if these are really his last few minutes alive, then he wants to be sure her eyes looking back at him are the last thing that he sees. He thinks that he could greet death willingly if he only has that.

Without taking his gaze from the scope, he fumbles with his ammo pack. Digs out a concussive round and reloads. On an exhale he lets the weight of his finger overcome the resistance of the trigger. A split-second later he watches as her shoulder jolts backwards and her mouth moves in a curse that he can't hear but that he knows she says all the same. She whips her head around, scanning the balcony that has been his bunker and his prison for too many hours to count, until she finally spots him. A frown on her face and eyes narrowed in anger.

He can't remember ever having seen a more beautiful sight.

It takes her longer than he would like to make her way to him. Fear and anticipation duel for dominance in his gut as he cuts down enemies alongside of her, clearing a path for her and her team as best as he can.

He's afraid that she won't be real. That she'll make it to his position, and he'll find that it was never her, just some desperate hallucination. There have been a few of those since she died, a lot of them have happened recently. He's equally afraid that it _is_ her, and that all the emotions he's kept bottled up since her death will pour out of him, unable to be contained by her proximity.

He knows which reality he'd choose, if given the option. But he also knows which one is more likely.

The tap of armored feet echo off the walls all around him as she makes her way into the room. Garrus keeps his gaze steadily facing forward, eyeing one last enemy through the scope - not willing to look back yet. Not willing to relinquish the fantasy of her swooping in to rescue him like the guardian angel everyone on this Spirits forsaken rock claim that he himself is.

"Archangel?"

The pace of his heart doubles, threatening to beat free of his chest. The voice caressing those syllables one that he hears every night in his sleep. One that he never thought he'd hear again. One that he'll never forget. He holds up a hand, using the enemy in his scope as an excuse to avoid turning around and facing her yet, still certain that she'll dissolve away the moment he does. He's proud when the limb doesn't tremble.

The merc down, he sucks in a breath of air and turns. His joints hurt, but he manages to put the pain aside and rise, peeling his helmet off as he settles back onto some crates. He holds his breath as her gaze locks on his. The exhaustion that settles over him like a shroud doesn't help him at all in determining if she's real. "Shepard. I thought you were dead."

"Garrus! What are you doing here?"

The sound of honest joy in her voice as she throws her arms wide, looking as if she is about to embrace him, loosens the knot constricting his soul.

It's her. It's really her.

Isn't it?

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

"You okay?" Even as she asks it, she knows what the answer is. It's carved in the set of his shoulders, in the way that he had to lean on the rifle in order to stand from his sniping crouch. It's in the almost palpable waves of exhaustion flowing off of him. She knows the answer, but she can't _not_ ask.

"Been better. But it sure is good to see a friendly face. Killing mercs is hard work. Especially on my own."

She asks questions, prods him for answers as to the how what and _why_ of him being here on Omega. Last she knew (before she went and died) was that he was in line for Spectre training. Finding him here, a masked vigilante for all intents and purposes, is surprising to say the least.

The Q&A is all just a distraction from the almost overwhelming happiness she feels at having found him, however. It's clear that whatever has gone down here has taken its toll on him, and it wouldn't be right for her to shout out in glee at the moment, no matter how much she might want to. Hell, she barely managed to resist throwing her arms around him when he pulled that helmet off.

They were always close, from almost the very beginning, but they were never _that_ close, and she has no idea if he would even welcome such a display of affection.

She thinks that she might just have to find out later, when they've cleared out the mercs and made it back to the Normandy. She hadn't quite realized how much she'd missed him until he was standing in front of her again, and somehow she needs to make sure that he knows too.

He finishes explaining the situation, sketching out a plan, tentative though it may be, in a subdued voice and she has to hold back a grin at the idea of fighting by his side again. "I didn't like sneaking anyway. Time to spill a little merc blood."

"Glad to see you haven't changed." His gaze, dark and hooded as it is, doesn't waver from her. She feels a pang in her heart at the reality that she can't say the same about him. The idealistic young turian that she knew is gone, and in his place is a battle hardened man. Then again, it's been two years for everyone but her. It shouldn't surprise her that the galaxy went on without her. But seeing the proof of it in her good friend's face really brings it home. "Let's see what they're up to..."

When he passes her the rifle so that she can see the scouts, his hand coasts over the back of her arm, lingering a moment at her elbow. She can't feel the heat of him through the layers of armor that they both wear, but the pressure - the presence - of him sends a jolt through her system.

It's the first time anyone has touched her just to _touch_ her since she woke up in that lab. Not so that they can perform a medical scan, not to pull her into cover or assist her into a hovering shuttle. Not for any reason that she can see except that she's _there_ , and he _can_. It makes her aware of him in a way that she's never consciously been before. Maybe he wouldn't be adverse to that hug after all...

The whole thing makes her hands shake enough that she doesn't take the opportunity to pick off one of the mechs with a headshot when the chance presents itself.

She doesn't have time to dwell on it though, as moments later they are deep in a firefight. Whatever Garrus did to piss off these mercs, it must have been damn impressive. Shepard's just glad that she took the time to sabotage the heavy mechs. There's enough heat on them without having to deal with that too. It makes things a whole hell of a lot easier. And it's a hell of a bonus when they manage to take out Jaroth at the same time.

Of course since nothing is ever easy for long, while they're regrouping after the first barrage - discussing exit strategies - a base shaking rattle announces that the lower levels have been breached. Something inside Shepard recoils from the idea of leaving Garrus alone so that they can go down below to deal with the invading threat, despite his suggestion that they do just that.

She looks at him. Really _looks_. And she finds that she doesn't like what she sees. He's tired, _too_ tired, with obvious injuries that he tries to cover up with little success. Then there's the slump of his shoulders, the way that he appears... not defeated, but damn close. It scares her a little. To the point that the thought of leaving him - even for a second - isn't something she's willing to contemplate. Her eyes don't leave his as she makes the call. "Miranda, Jacob, get to work on those shutters. Keep in radio contact. I want constant updates, understood?"

"Of course, Commander."

"We're on it, Shepard."

After that it's a whirlwind firefight, with her and Garrus falling into that familiar rhythm that they perfected in the hunt for Saren. They take turns lining up shots, one of them up while the other one reloads. The smile that has been threatening to bloom since the start finally wins its battle when he presses a fresh heat sink into her hand without her even having to ask. She glances back at him in thanks, and finds him staring at her with an unreadable expression before he turns away to take his turn at the ledge.

They go on like that for what seems like ages, but is probably less than fifteen minutes. Up, down. Him, her. Rinse, repeat. The scent of blood and burning metal wafting up from the killing field down below is invigorating. Reminding her that she's alive. That _Garrus_ is alive. It's like all of the pieces of her broken kaleidoscope of a life are coming back together.

It feels _right_.

Shepard lines up a final shot as her comm crackles to life: "Last shutter down, Commander. Returning to your location." She drops her shoulder a hair, and squeezes the trigger. The last visible bastard falls to the ground in a spray of blood. Shepard pulls back from the ledge, dropping onto the ground with her back to the wall as she reloads. No one's coming down the bridge at the moment, but better safe than sorry. Next to her - almost impossibly close - she can feel Garrus doing the same. His armor tapping against hers with his movements.

"Roger that, Lawson. Make sure to do a full sweep of the compound on your way back. We're running low on heat sinks up here. Last thing we need is to get caught with our pants around our ankles and the last sink popped."

"That metaphor was awful, Commander, but understood. Miranda out."

Shepard huffs out a breath, and settles her gun against the wall to the side of her that isn't pressed against Garrus. A whoop of laughter finally escaping as she settles back down, adrenaline still pumping through her system. "Hah! Just like old times, huh, Garr-"

Her sentence dies a premature death at the feeling of talons carding through her hair, a tug on the tendrils so slight that it could be accidental if it wasn't for the way that it lingers. She closes her mouth with a snap and tilts her head to the side in order to look at him. His gloved talons move with her, still playing with the loose strands of hair. He looks...mesmerized. "Garrus?"

"You're real." His voice is guttural, the sub-vocals deeper than she has ever heard them before. She watches his mandibles flare out to the side as he takes a breath. Disbelief is written in every line of his face. The fact that she is the cause of such a reaction chills her at the same time that it stirs something in the pit of her soul. She swallows, unable to find her voice, so she just nods instead.

"You're real. You're here. And you're _alive_. How?'

"It's a...a long story."

He hums, the low-pitched vibration making her shiver. The hand that's been playing with her hair slides down, next to her cheek; one talon skimming across the marks of her resurrection. "You're scars, they're...different."

She nods again. Suppressing a shudder as the movement causes his glove to scratch against her face. "I know. Cerberus - they, they rebuilt me. All new skin. All new scars. These ones, these ones haven't had a chance to heal."

Now it's his turn to nod. Like what she said actually made sense. His fingers skate across her cheek then follow the line of her jaw down to her chin. Her breath goes shallow at his proximity. He's leaning closer to her than she can ever recall him having been before. The moment hangs in the air, breath caught between them, before he seems to snap back to attention, and starts to pull away, talons curling into his palm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - that was inappropriate of-"

"No!" She grabs for his wrist and pulls his hand back towards her face, holding his palm to her cheek and leaning into the touch. "No, I - I don't mind." She closes her eyes, releasing a broken breath. Shepard revels in the sensation of being touched, even through the armor; the thought of losing this tentative connection too horrible to bear.

After a moment, the hand at her cheek slides back into her hair, cupping her head in its grasp, his voice impossibly close when he releases her name on a sigh. Unexpectedly, his other arm wraps around her body and hauls her up and onto his lap, her legs splayed out on either side of his hips as he pulls her to him in a vice-like embrace. The position is intimate, but not obscene.

His head drops down to the junction between her neck and shoulder, the hard angles of him pressing into her much softer ones. The edges of his armor clank against hers as her arms flail out to her sides, unsure of the best place to land. After a moment she settles them on his cowl and lets her head rest against his as best she can, mindful of his fringe. It's awkward, and a little uncomfortable, but she doesn't care. She needs this. She hadn't known how much.

And judging by the way that he clings to her, so does he.

A minute, or an eternity passes - she doesn't know which - before she feels his shoulders hitch. His knees lifting behind her, cradling her to his body as he curls closer. A low, plaintive sound issues forth from his chest; his whole frame rocking almost rhythmically in time. The realization that he is crying - or the turian equivalent - shocks her to her core. She never would have imagined such an emotional display from him. In the past, he'd always been so composed, so controlled. His willingness to display himself this way - or maybe it's his inability to hold back any longer - speaks volumes as to his current mental state.

Just what the _hell_ has he been through?

The need to soothe him is too strong to ignore, so she doesn't even bother trying. Instead, she lifts a hand from his cowl and drags it along to the nape of his neck, below the fringe. She massages the tender hide there while making soft sounds of reassurance that she hadn't before known she was capable of - though in this time, and in this place, and with _him_ , they feel completely natural.

Eventually, the shaking stops. In its place there is a deep rumbling. She feels his hand tighten at her waist, his knees at her back pressing her closer to him. His mouth caresses the skin of her neck. She gasps at the sensation of stiff lips nipping gently at the skin there, her fingers at his neck digging into him involuntarily in response. She presses her body as close to his as she can, given the obstacle that is their armor.

It's not close enough.

The reaction from him is immediate, and intense. He growls, a loud vibrato that sends heat spiking through her body. The talons in her hair curl tight, grabbing hold of the strands so that he can tug her head to the side. There is a flash of pain at the abrupt movement, but it is almost instantly replaced with a wash of pleasure as his rough tongue laves the skin of her neck in an alien sort of kiss. His hot breath fanning over the moistened skin as he moves higher, nuzzling the space by her ear, then the underside of her jaw.

She scratches her gloved fingers against his neck once more, thrilling in the way his body bucks slightly beneath hers. Her heart is beating like a hammer against her ribs, the whole world falling away until nothing but the two of them remains. "Garrus..."

~TBC


	2. My Regrets Are Few

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note** : The second part of the kinkmeme fill. Again, some dialogue has been borrowed directly from the game (I also co-opt a line from ME3 for my own purposes in this part as well, because it's funny and I can). Story and chapter titles taken from the song "Help I'm Alive" by _Metric_. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

****

**Part 2: My Regrets Are Few**

* * *

If this is a hallucination, Garrus never wants to be sane again. No, he'd rather stay here, absorbed in the feel of her in his arms, her scent - gunmetal and ice - filling his senses, and the taste of her sweat tingling on his tongue, forever.

But if this is real, _if this is real_ , he wants to give it up even less.

He could lie to himself and say that he doesn't know what came over him, this so very out-of-character display, but he knows. He knows all too well what sparked it. Years of burying his doubts, his fears, his frustrations - the pain of her loss - all brought to a razor sharp edge by the betrayal of a friend and the brutal massacre of his squad. All of it used to build a blade that he would never have been able to dodge.

Just the sight of her hadn't been enough. Even the sound of her voice hadn't been able to truly assure him that she was real and _alive_ and here with him. So he'd sought out reassurance of the reality through touch. Allowing his hands to ghost over her with a familiarity that he never would have dared before. A slip of his talons at her elbow, a press of his palm against hers while passing a heat sink. The slide of his arm along hers while they both went for the reload.

But it wasn't enough.

And in the relative calm between the storms, when there was nothing but the two of them holding tight to life in a room filled with death, he hadn't been able to resist taking more. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own when they reached for first her hair (so slick against his gloves) then her cheek. Found his eyes drawn to her scars (so different from before) and pulled to the thrumming vein he could see pulsing against the thin skin of her neck. And with each pulse, it drew him ever closer to her orbit.

The smallest whisper of sense had attempted to exert itself then, and he'd tried - he really had - to withdraw, to stop his descent into an entirely different kind of madness. Not knowing if this invasion of her space was at all welcome, and knowing full well that it wasn't at all wise. But that battle was lost the moment she'd grabbed his hand, and pulled him back to her; forcibly denied his retreat with her grip and voice and eyes. Denied any chance he'd ever have to escape again.

Still, it wasn't enough.

He'd pulled her to him then, wrapped himself around her. Felt something inside of him stretch and give until it broke when she returned the embrace. And while the smallest part of him may rebel at the idea of showcasing so much of himself - it isn't at all like him after all, he prides himself on his control - the rest of him just doesn't give a damn anymore.

Not with her here, in his arms. _Alive_.

Spirits damn him, but he'll never let her go again if he can help it.

Any last vestiges of willpower he may have possessed disintegrated with the touch of her fingers to the sensitive skin of his neck. Even gloved as they were, they still played havoc on his senses. The want - the _need_ \- to get closer to her, as close as he possibly could overwhelmed him, and before he knew what he was doing, he was pulling her skin into his mouth, darting his tongue out to taste her and gripping her as tight to him as he could.

The breathy sigh of his name on her lips, though, that is his undoing. A desperation like he's never before known burning away all rational thought.

He sweeps her up into his arms as he stands. And with a twist of their bodies presses them against the wall by the bunks. Out of sight and out of range of any mercs still idiotic enough to try crossing the bridge. Her hands scramble for purchase again, before landing once more on his neck, and his chestplate.

The armor has to go.

With a growl he fumbles at the latches of her hardsuit. The growl grows in volume as her oh-so-human mouth with those oh-so-soft lips glide along his mandibles over and over again, applying gentle suction along their length. Her tongue joining in to taste him breaks his concentration as piece by piece he reveals her body to his questing hands.

He doesn't get very far. Her chest piece and gauntlets, shoulder padding too, all fall to the ground with repetitive clanks; leaving her a goddess in a skintight black undersuit. But he doesn't make it as far as the leg armor, and not a single piece of his own hardsuit has a chance to join hers before she distracts him completely from his task in a most unexpected, but still welcomed way.

Her warm hands - free of their armored trappings - frame his face as they direct his mouth to hers; those pliable human lips pressing to his and prying his mouth open with a flexibility that he can't possibly match. But he tries. _Spirits_ , how he tries. His tongue slipping against hers in a wet slide. He loses all sense of time in her embrace. Everything else fading away until his entire world is comprised of only the few points of physical contact that they share, and the dull sensation of rushing blood in his veins.

With a gasp for air he pulls back from her lips and presses his forehead against hers, enjoying the way that her soft skin yields against the pressure. He flexes his hands at her hips, torn between wanting to continue what they've started, and wanting to stay in this near-perfect moment for as long as he can. That doesn't stop him from stroking a hand up along the curve of her waist and back down to settle at her hip. Nor does it stop the thrill he gets when her whole body trembles at the touch. But the sense of urgency, of _need_ , that got them to this point has been subdued to a gentle roar in the wake of her kiss.

There is so much he wants to tell her, so many jumbled up thoughts and emotions that he wants to express. Tired of having their existence denied, they claw at him, demanding release. The barest shadow of uncertainty is the only thing that stops him from granting them their wish.

Already, this day has taken so many surreal turns that he isn't certain how many more upheavals he can stand before crashing. It makes him wary, unwilling to push his luck. Hell, she's _here_ , what more could he possibly ask of the universe? But when he's finally able to peel his eyes open to land upon her dilated ones, he sees something similar to his own desperation reflected back in their depths. The sight gives him strength.

"Shepard-"

Of course reality is a cruel and fickle thing, and so it decides to reassert its dominance over the situation with the delicacy of a sledgehammer the moment that he breathes her name.

It comes in the form of a disturbed sound, like a cough or a startled gasp, at his six. The noise propels him back into motion. One arm reaching out blindly for the rarely used pistol strapped to his back, the other instinctively pushing Shepard - her upper torso vulnerable in its currently unarmored state - behind him as he twists towards the new threat, his angry snarl rending the air in warning.

But it isn't Blood Pack, or Eclipse, or the Blue Suns come to take him down, it's merely the two members of Shepard's squad returning from their mission to secure the lower portion of the base. The knowledge does little to slow Garrus' pounding heart, primed as it is to shoot first and skip the questions altogether. It's only when Shepard's hand covers his own that he is able to bring himself to lower his gun.

He looks at her over his shoulder, his chest heaving with each breath he takes as the adrenaline fueling his overtaxed system begins to peter out. The look she gives him is sympathetic, understanding written clear as day on her features. On anyone else, the expression would enrage him, but on her, he finds it merely reassuring.

She's really here.

A smile that he thinks seems sad twists her lips. Her voice when she speaks is low, for his ears only. "Garrus. It's okay. They're with me, remember?"

Some of the tension in him dies down at the words, or maybe it's just because of her tone. Either way, he finds himself incapable of doing anything beyond nodding. That tension eases further as Shepard slips the gun out of his grip, while her other hand presses against his back in silent support.

Garrus lets go of the breath he's holding and swings his head back around to the duo by the door. His visor locks on them, spitting out information on their vitals and calculating weak points for attack. He catalogs the information, storing it away just in case. Logically, he knows that they aren't the enemy, not if they're with Shepard, but he'll be damned if he's going to make the same mistake twice by putting his trust in the wrong people. The bodies decorating every corner of the bunker can attest to that. And those Cerberus logos emblazoned on their clothes certainly don't do anything to inspire trust.

Neither does the inscrutable expression on the man's face, or the narrowed eyed stare of the woman. Her whole countenance is too reminiscent of a scientist preparing specimens for dissection for his comfort.

Needless to say, he _really_ doesn't like that look.

The weight of Shepard's hand at his back falls away slowly, dragging down his armored torso and briefly over his hip. Something inside Garrus purrs with pleasure at the lingering touch. After a moment he hears the clatter of her collecting her armor, followed by the tell-tale suction noise the latches make as the pieces are secured back into place. The sound jolts Garrus back into himself, making him consciously aware of just what the hell they'd been doing - of what they'd been _about_ to do if they'd only had the time.

What the hell was he thinking? Falling all over his former CO - his _friend_ \- the way that he had? Prying the protective equipment from her body in an effort to get to more of her - to get to as _much_ of her - as he could, in the middle of a days long firefight that had already left him half-dead before she'd even arrived?

The answer is, of course, that he hadn't been thinking. Not at all. His actions were fueled entirely by his emotions and the heady, physical response to her proximity. Now, with his blood cooling down, he's able to recognize how easily his unthinking actions could have gotten them both killed.

But damn it all, he can't bring himself to regret it.

And the urge to grab hold of her again and prove to himself that she's still real is almost impossible to resist. He has to curl the talons of his one hand into a fist so tight he feels the strain of it all the way up to his shoulder just to stop himself from reaching out for her. He keeps his eyes facing forward, locked on the intruding pair, mostly in an effort to control himself, but also because he doesn't want to let them out of his sight just yet. Not until he is certain how they are going to react.

There's no denying how compromising the position they were caught in was; how inappropriate considering the situation. Given that he was the instigator (though nothing about Shepard's responses was exactly _passive_ ), he thinks maybe he should offer up a token denial of the facts, to spare Shepard some face in front of her subordinates. But what the hell could he possibly say? ' _I was checking her for injuries and one of my mandibles got hooked on her visor?'_

Yeah. Right.

There's nothing to be done for it. It is what it is, and if her team doesn't like it, to hell with them. The fact that Shepard is still standing by his side tells him all he needs to know regarding her opinion on the matter, so he keeps his mouth shut and waits for her cue.

Ever the professional, it comes in the form of her not mentioning the situation at all. Well, okay then. He can deal with that.

"Report, Lawson?"

Surprisingly, the woman does just that. Quickly disseminating the information that her and the male have gathered, and distributing the pilfered heat sinks they've collected. And the whole time she acts as if she hadn't just caught her commanding officer half-dressed and in the arms of a turian vigilante.

Of course that doesn't stop her from leveling that disconcerting look at Garrus while she hammers home a not-so-subtle reminder that they are still in a very precarious position, with another merc wave eminent. A fact that is punctuated by the sounds of shouting coming from across the bridge.

Well, at least the mercs are kind enough to announce their arrival every time.

"Lawson, Taylor! Hold the exits!"

"Aye aye, Commander." Like the good little soldiers they apparently are, they move into position, leaving Garrus relatively alone with Shepard once again.

A bullet firing overhead gets him moving, ducking down beneath the ledge to snag his rifle and toss Shepard hers. He checks the heat sink and flairs his mandibles at her in a wide grin as she does the same. He's exhausted, but having her by his side again is a better boost than stims.

"Sounds like break time's over."

She smiles wide. The sight makes his heart pound. "Ready to finish this?"

"Definitely."

"Good. Because you and me? I think we have some catching up to do back on the Normandy. Did I mention that I've got a whole floor to myself now?"

Despite everything, he laughs. He can't help it. Having Shepard here with him?

It feels _good_.

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

At some point during the fight, Shepard gets separated from Garrus; forced to move down the hall and back to the first floor, so that she can hold off the incoming waves with Miranda. She doesn't like having him out of her line of sight. But the frustration at the absence of visual confirmation is tempered by his voice giving regular updates over the comm.

"Scratch one!"

And hell, at least he's starting to sound like his old self again.

Shepard lines up a shot, taking aim at a merc Miranda just yanked mercilessly into the air. Brain matter decorates the ceiling above the stairs when she's done. While she reloads, she catches Miranda watching her, an unattractive expression on the beautiful woman's face that is halfway between a grimace and a smirk. Like she's been sucking on lemons and not sure if she liked it or not. Shepard knows what's coming, and she'll be damned if she's going to hide from it. They're all adults here; they can damn well act like it.

"Something you need, Lawson?"

"I must admit, Commander, when you said that you didn't want to get caught with your pants down, I hadn't thought that you'd meant it literally."

The statement surprises a laugh out of Shepard. She didn't think that the uptight woman had it in her. Maybe the Cerberus lackey wasn't all bad. Shepard shakes her head, and snipes another poor sod caught in her scope. "I was still wearing my pants, Lawson."

Another merc goes flying through the air, before being slammed to the ground. "By the looks of things, you wouldn't have been for long."

Shepard shrugs as she freezes a target for Miranda to take down. "Can't argue with you there. Things got, uh, a little intense."

"So I saw."

Shepard bristles at the not-so-subtle reprimand in the other woman's tone. "If you got a problem, Lawson, spit it out."

"Fine." Shepard watches as Miranda pops out one heat sink from her pistol and slams in another. Her eyes are hard when she looks back at Shepard. "I do have a problem. What you do on your downtime is none of my business, no matter how... _distasteful_... I may find it, so long as it doesn't interfere with our mission." Two more mechs and a merc join the fallen as Shepard and her de facto XO work their way back towards the stairs, diving for cover to avoid a wild spray of gunfire. The woman's not even winded when she levels a glare at Shepard. "I think we can both agree that having sex in the middle of a firefight constitutes as disrupting the mission. And that, I absolutely have a problem with."

"Fair enough." As much as it pains her to admit it Shepard can't disagree with that line of reasoning. What happened between her and Garrus...well, there were times and places for that sort of thing. It would have been better to have waited until their escape was complete, and they were behind closed doors. When they would have had a chance to really explore what was happening between the two of them. This fast-growing maelstrom of emotions that they both seemed to be caught in the moment they'd laid eyes on each other again.

It would have been better, but Shepard's not sorry that it happened the way that it did. How can she be when just the memory of those intense, heated looks that Garrus gave her makes her quiver? She can't recall the last time that anyone's looked at her like that, and she knows that she's never reacted with that sort of intense, all-consuming _need_ before. Never before had she been so caught up in the moment as to lose all sense of her surroundings; been brought to the point that she just didn't _care_.

And if that complete loss of control had happened with anyone else but Garrus? With anyone that she didn't trust so completely? Well, Shepard's ability to erect walls is about as legendary as her combat skills, and she doubts she'd ever have given them the chance to effect her to such a degree again. But it _was_ Garrus, so instead she finds herself wondering what it would be like to let go like that again...with him.

A giddy feeling of anticipation swells in her at the thought.

She shakes herself free of the images and focuses back on the battle at hand, taking a second to pop off a merc caught in one of Miranda's biotic fields. Another follows it soon after courtesy of Miranda and a pistol shot to the head. "Impressive."

"Thanks." Together, they've cleared out most of the force on the first level, aside from a few stragglers. But so far, there's been no sign of Tarak - a fact that gnaws at Shepard. With both Jaroth and Garm down, the Blue Suns leader is the last obstacle they have to deal with before they get the hell off this station.

At which point she plans on giving Garrus a _thorough_ tour of the ship.

"Can I assume we're agreed? That the sort of behavior you and your...friend were engaging in is less than appropriate and should be avoided in the future?"

Shepard ducks behind a pillar to avoid a neck high shot before leaning out and taking down the idiot who fired, Miranda mirrors the action on the other side. After a quick scan of their surroundings, Shepard gives the all clear and they make their way back up the stairs. Shepard takes the time to switch out her rifle for a shorter ranged weapon. "Tell you what, I promise to keep my armor on during missions from here on out, if you promise to leave what you saw out of the official mission report. No need for our xenophobic financer to hear all the details."

Miranda sounds as exasperated as she looks. "He's not xenophobic, Commander, he's-"

The whirring sound of a gunship cuts the sentence off, while Jacob's shout of warning over the comms propels Shepard into motion, leg muscles pumping at an inhuman speed to get her back up to the balcony.

Back up to the balcony, and back to Garrus.

Shepard skids to a halt behind cover as she reaches the balcony, eyes scanning the area to locate both Garrus and Jacob just in time to see dozens of troops dropped off the ship.

She tries to make her way to Garrus' side, but it's impossible. There's just too many of them to let her through. _Where the hell do they_ find _all these people? Two for one sale on idiots down at Aria's?_ She catches Garrus' eye across the room in time to see his mandibles flare out in alarm a second before his voice yells at her over the comm, causing a strange sort of echo as she hears the warning in real time as well.

"Watch your back, Shepard!"

She drops down just in time to avoid the blow to the skull from the merc behind her. With a sweep of her leg she brings him down and takes him out with a quick burst of gunfire. The machine gun isn't her favorite weapon, but it's fun in its own right. "Why should I? Isn't that what I have you for?"

The growl that he releases cuts right through her, sending shivers down her spine that leave her tingling in their wake. She shuffles that little tidbit of information away for later use. "Little preoccupied with not dying at the moment, so just pay attention. Please." There's a thin note of desperation coating his words. It makes her feel guilty for riling him up.

"Scout's honor."

"What does that even mea- On your three!"

She rolls, pops up in time to take out another one before dropping back to cover and swapping heat sinks. Overhead a merc goes flying. At least she knows that Miranda and Jacob are doing fine. A voice, loud and booming over the speaker from the gunship turns the blood in her veins to ice.

"Archangel! You think you can screw with the Blue Suns!" The bastard's egotistical announcement is followed by the sound of heavy fire. She hears Garrus gasp over the comm, but she's pinned down, and can't risk sticking her head out to check on him. She shoves the worry aside, and waits for her opening.

"This ends now!"

Which will presumably be whenever Tarak is done giving speeches.

She can hear the ship's guns powering up, and the distinctive sound of a rocket being launched. Then a shout of intense pain, followed by a tiny gurgle that she only hears through the filters of her comm.

Shepard's entire world seizes up. Everything narrowed down to a tiny pinhole of data, until all she can think of, all she can focus on is... "Garrus!"

Through the screen of smoke, she moves from one area of cover to the next, closing the distance between her and Garrus. Distantly, she is aware of Miranda and Jacob doing the same, but she doesn't care. She can't care. Not when she can see Garrus lying unconscious a dozen feet from her, and that bastard Tarak is still flying around outside.

She drops the machine gun, and reaches behind her, unlatching the almost pristine grenade launcher she'd acquired back in the Cerberus facility where she awoke. "You're right, Tarak. This does end now."

A half-dozen projectile grenades later, the gunship is down and Shepard's kneeling in a pool of sticky blue liquid. It's almost too bright, too shiny to be real. She thinks that the color doesn't quite convey the carnage, the damage that's been done. Not like red would. She reaches for him, unsure if she should move him or if that would just make things worse, but the need to touch him, to feel him, to make sure that he's alive wins out and she places a hand on his shoulder.

"Garrus! We're getting you out of here. Hold on. Just, just hold on." She can't lose him. Not when she's just found him. Hell, not ever if she has anything to say about it. She just _can't_. Trying to keep her panic at bay, she glances briefly at Miranda. "Radio Joker. Make sure they're ready for us."

For a second, it feels like her heart stops beating only to start pounding away again triple-time when he gasps for air and seeks her out with his eyes. "Shep- Shepaaaard..." He coughs and gurgles, a thin line of blood oozing out of his mouth and down his chin. One of his hands blindly grabs for his gun. She slides it into his grip, wrapping her five digits around his three on the handle.

She doesn't let go.

"I'm here, Garrus. I'm here."

"He's in bad shape. We need to get him out of here."

She turns to Miranda with a snarl. "You think I don't know that? _Christ!_ Stop screwing around and get Joker on the horn damn it!"

"Jacob's speaking with him now, Commander."

Shepard narrows her eyes at her XO, expecting to see judgment or exasperation, but she sees nothing but concern. Shepard gives her a perfunctory nod before directing her attention back to her wounded friend. Finding his gaze locked on her already. She reaches up, flinching a bit from worry that she'll hurt him, before placing her hand on the unwounded side of his face, beneath the visor. With gentle strokes, she traces the lines of his markings.

"Hold on."

She slows her breath until it syncs with his. Taking one in and letting one out at the same pace that he does. She doesn't let her eyes drift from him, holding him in her gaze and counting out the beats of her heart in a subconscious rhythm tapped against his hand. They stay that way until he loses consciousness and the cavalry arrives.

~TBC


	3. While My Blood's Still Flowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note** : The third part of the kinkmeme fill. Again, some dialogue has been borrowed directly from the game. Story and chapter titles taken from the song "Help I'm Alive" by _Metric_. A big THANK YOU to everyone for reading. You're all awesome :-)

* * *

**Part 3: While My Blood's Still Flowing**

* * *

It's torture, waiting for news on Garrus. At first, Shepard had refused to leave the medbay. Unwilling to take her eyes from him, certain that he'd breathe his last breath if she so much as turned away. There had just been so much blood, she couldn't fathom how there was enough left for his heart to pump, and yet...there was. The machines he was latched on to beep beep beeping away with every beat of his heart, at a rate so much slower than that of her own muscle, pounding away in her chest.

But then Chakwas had threatened to have one of the crewman bodily remove Shepard, and when the man looked like he actually _would_ Shepard had relented and retreated to the mess hall where she planned to watch from the sidelines. Only, that was when she learned that the medbay was outfitted with privacy glass, and at a touch of a button Chakwas had blocked her view as well.

Frustrated, frightened, and a little furious to boot, Shepard had stormed off to her cabin and stripped out of her armor. The simple, familiar action stalled for several minutes as recently acquired memories had flared to life. Memories of Garrus' impatient fingers hastily undoing those same latches, and tossing the pieces to the side. His hands back on her body before the noise of the pieces hitting the floor could even reach her ears.

Heat had flooded her body then, fueled by passions she hadn't been aware she'd had until the first moment Garrus had touched her. It was insane to think that the barest touch at her elbow could have caused the response in her that it did, but there was no denying now that it _had_. And she's glad for it, glad that such a small touch had managed to break down the barriers previously erected between them. Managed to eliminate the line between commander and subordinate and set them firmly on the path beyond simple friends.

Because now that she knows what it feels like to hold him in her arms? To feel him pressed against her, their hands seeking each other? Now that she knows the taste of his mouth, his tongue; the weight of his heated stare? She has no plans to ever retreat to the comfortable zone of friendship again. No, there is no way way for them but forward.

And she plans to tell him that, just as soon as he wakes the hell up.

Which is why she is waiting for news of his status in the comm room now. Far enough away from the medbay so as to not fray her already knotted nerves, but more accessible than her quarters - a place none of her crew members have bothered to venture to as of yet.

Her heart lurches when the door slides open, only to settle like a popped balloon when Jacob crosses the threshold, and not Garrus. She doesn't bother to greet him, uncertain how shaky her voice will be. Instead she just grips the table in front of her harder, hoping he won't notice how pale her knuckles have gone but not really caring all that much if he does.

And if he does, he has the decency not to mention it.

"Commander, we've done what we could for Garrus, but he took a bad hit."

Impatient, Shepard interrupts what ever he was about to say to ask the only question that matters to her at the moment. "Cut to the chase, Jacob. Did he make it?"

"Yes, Commander. But you should know that..." Shepard listens as Jacob goes on and on about cybernetics and functionality, but it doesn't sink in. None of that matters to her right now. All that matters is that he's alive. Alive and presumably unconscious in the medbay. The need to be by his side when he wakes up is all consuming, and she is half-way to the door before she even realizes she's made the decision to move.

She's just reached it when it slides open to reveal one very damaged but oh-so- _alive_ turian on the other side.

"Garrus!" For the second time in one day she has to restrain herself from throwing her arms around him. Earlier, it was because she was worried it wouldn't be welcome. Now she _knows_ it would be, but that worry has been replaced by concern that she might harm him - the bandage on the side of his face a harsh reminder of what he has suffered today. So instead she just stands there. Smiling. Bubbles of happiness filling her at the sight of him, until she thinks she might just float away.

His mere presence has reduced her to a tongue-tied teenager, and she couldn't possibly care less.

"Shepard. Mind if I come in?"

She jumps, just a little, at his request. The look in his eyes, warm and delighted, tells her that he noticed. But again, she's finding it hard to care. Instead she moves out of his way, gesturing to the room at large with a smile. "Be my guest." Her fingers itch to grab him as he walks past, but she fights the urge. Idly, she notices that he isn't wearing his armor, but instead a pair of plain looking civvies. As odd (and slightly thrilling) as it is, it makes sense she supposes. His armor was just about as banged up as he was, which means it's probably not even wearable. She makes a mental note to pick him up a new set at the first opportunity.

"So how bad is it? No one would give me a mirror."

She laughs, moving to lean back against the table to give her hands something to do that doesn't involve touching him. Which is all they seem to want to do anymore. "Hell, Garrus, have you never heard how attractive some women find scars?"

He takes a step closer to her, the air between them heavy with tension, and a shot of heat cuts straight to her core at the intent look in his eyes. "I've heard it said, once or twice." Somewhere behind them she hears the door open and close again. She's got to give Jacob some credit for knowing when to make a hasty retreat. She'll have to buy him a drink later in thanks. "Where do you fall on that scale, Shepard?"

"Mmm, let's just say they've been known to drive me a little wild."

Another step and he is almost upon her, electricity crackling between them like a mounting storm. His voice is husky, lowered to a register that she's not sure she's ever heard from him before, but that she would like to hear a whole lot more of in _several_ other contexts. "Is that right?"

Unable to restrain herself anymore, she places a hand on his arm, just south of his elbow. Her voice shakes with want so noticeable, that she's almost embarrassed. "Yeah. It is."

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Garrus takes the final step into her personal space, taking a certain amount of delight in the way that her eyes darken and her breath quickens. He lifts one hand, ghosting it along - but never touching - the length of her arm, down over her elbow until he reaches her wrist. He makes contact there, where her skin peeks out from beneath the cuff of her shirt. He circles his talons around to the underside, feeling the thrum of her pulse and with slow intent he drags them up along her palm, turning his hand over until he is holding hers. A strange sort of hold that should be off-putting, what with her having five fingers and him having three. But it works, they _fit_ , without them even trying.

If that doesn't say everything about the two of them, he doesn't know what does.

On an exhale, he places his free hand on her hip and relaxes his neck to bring his forehead to hers. All the tension, all the worry and the fear that has been building up in him over so many days. Months. Years. Filters away just by having her close. Not gone, but managable. He closes his eyes, blocking out all distractions as he focuses on the scent or her - cleaner now than back on the battlefield, crisper - and on the sound of her uneven breaths. The feel of each one alighting upon his face like a blessing. "You're alive."

She laughs, a small unassuming sound that wavers near the end. Nothing like the boisterous ones that she gives off in the middle of a firefight. "I think that's supposed to be my line this time." Her hand on his arm clenches and doesn't release. "Don't do that again, okay?"

"Trust me. I plan to avoid all rockets to the face in the future."

"Garrus..." Her tone is light but with a hint of a reprimand in it.

"I don't like making idle promises, Shepard. And I don't think you do either."

"No, I don't."

"So let's just agree to watch each other's six from here on out, and go from there, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

There is a lot more that they need to address, but at the moment...at the moment he thinks that they are both more in need of something else. He pulls her towards him by the hand until she is flush up against him, his hand at her hip sliding along the curve of her waist until it reaches the small of her back and he's able to hold her in a loose embrace. Every point of contact between them seeps with warmth.

And he's glad, so very glad, that Chakwas insisted he not wear his damaged armor out of the med-bay. (Not that she gave him much choice, the devious woman, he couldn't even find it when he looked.) Normally, he'd never want to be seen wandering the ship in civvies - and going without gloves was almost unthinkable - but now...now when he can actually feel the heat of her through the thin layers of clothing that they wear, he can be nothing but grateful for the Doctor's mothering.

While Garrus is reveling in the proximity of Shepard - still hardly able to believe she's real - her hand manages to find its way to his cowl to trace little, almost hesitant, patterns up the slope of his neck. A rumbling, pleased sort of growl builds in his chest at her touch. He scratches his hand along her back, over the cloth of her shirt before skimming down to the edge and tugging it up enough to allow him access to her skin. He follows a fine line there with the tip of a talon. Her back arches, a tiny gasp, almost a mewl, escaping her at the contact.

He decides that he loves that sound and makes it his personal mission to drag it from her again and again. With great care - the side of his face still so very sore - he lowers his face to the space where her shoulder meets her neck, the sweet and tangy taste of her bursting on his tongue as he drags it against her skin. Both her hands tighten against him in response, holding on.

She whimpers when he snakes the hand at her back up under her shirt to knead the muscles there. The noise he makes when she starts kissing his throat isn't much better, and he finds himself panting against her skin.

"We should really talk about you working with Cerberus."

"Mmm-hmm, and I'd like to know how you ended up on Omega."

"That's fair, but..." His hands slip to her waist, gripping her tight as he lifts her onto the table behind them. She gasps again as he skims one of hand down towards her ass, grasping the flesh there and tugging her towards him. Rumbling with pleasure as her nails dig into the skin beneath his fringe, he rewards her with another lick to her neck. Then proceeds to lift his head to her ear and pull the lobe into his mouth with a gentle nip. Curbing his natural instincts on account of his wounded face. "If it's okay with you, I'd much prefer to focus on more...pleasant debriefings right now."

She chuckles, and he decides that he loves that sound too. Almost as much as he loves the way that she wraps her legs around his hips, and tugs at the bottom of his shirt. Even almost as much as he loves the way she drags her blunt, human nails along the carapace of his chest in a manner that makes him hiss.

But not quite as much as he loves the breathy, deep sound of her whispering in his ear. "In that case, I think we're both wearing far too many clothes."

Oh yeah, he _definitely_ likes that sound the most by far. And as if in agreement, he feels his lower plates shift to accommodate his growing arousal. He knows that this probably isn't the best idea. He's injured, hasn't had a decent night's rest in so long that he can't remember. And he doesn't know anything at all about the sexual practices of humans, or even how compatible they are with turians. Not too mention, less than a day ago he thought she was dead, and was preparing to join her (and his squad) in a blaze of gunfire and glory.

But between his heightened emotional state, and the _very_ effective pain medication that the Doctor has put him on, he really can't find it himself to care.

She's alive. He's alive. She's _here_ and so is he. And judging by the way that they can't seem to stop touching each other, what they both want is abundantly clear.

And that's about all the higher brain function he has available at the moment. Decision made, he growls into her neck, pressing her back onto the table until he is laying on top of her. His hands delve for the bottom of her shirt desperate to tug it from her body, when a disembodied electronic voice interrupts them.

"Commander Shepard."

Garrus isn't proud to admit that he jumps, but he does. Just a bit. Hands wrapping around Shepard as he goes vertical again, bringing her with him. He twists his head around, trying to find the source of the audio intrusion. Finally locating it coming from a glowing blue orb. "What the hell..."

Shepard drops her head to Garrus' chest, sighing against him. "Hello, EDI. Give a little warning next time."

"My apologies, Commander, but given the nature of the activities that you and Officer Vakarian appeared to be engaging in, I thought that it would be best to remind you that the communication room is equipped with a full array of audio and visual surveillance. All of which the Illusive Man has full access to. You may wish to take your personal activities elsewhere."

Shepard laughs, sounding bemused. "Duly noted, EDI. Thank you."

"You are welcome, Commander. Logging out."

Garrus pulls back far enough to be able to meet Shepard's eyes, confused as to what just happened, but happy to see a smile on her lips, and a rush of color in her cheeks. "Ship's V.I.?"

"An A.I. actually."

"An A.I.? Cerberus went all out, didn't they?"

Her fingers tighten on his shirt. "Yeah, they did."

He lifts a hand to run it through her hair, remembering how mesmerized by it he had been on Omega. He is no less so now. The way the silky strands slip through his talons, carrying none of Shepard's heat but all of her scent. It's an oddity for a turian, not something he ever particularly found attractive before, but he finds that it is fast becoming a favorite.

He doesn't know how, he doesn't even really get the _why_ , but Cerebrus somehow managed to bring her back to him, and for that...for that he is willing to cut them a whole lot of slack, even if he can't quite bring himself to trust a shadow-organization that develops A.I. technology.

Baby steps.

Once more he rests his head against hers. "I'm glad they did."

"Me too. Now, what do you say? You want that tour of the ship that I promised?"

"Mmm. Sounds good. Where would you suggest we start?"

She pulls back from him, one hand at his chest pushing him back far enough that she can slip from off the table. The same hand slides down his chest and then reaches for his hand. Tangling their fingers together in that odd sort of grip. (Another thing that Garrus is starting to love.) There's a glint in her eyes and a smile on her lips that he is helpless but to respond to. He follows her as she tugs him backwards towards the door.

"I hear the Captain's cabin is very nice."

It's hard to reign in the smile that threatens at those words, but the pain radiating from his face does his best to remind him. Instead he just tilts his head and gives her what he hopes comes across as a pleased expression. "And it could probably use a good sweeping for bugs. Just to be sure."

She squeezes his hand. "Right. Lets get on that then, shall we?"

He wants to laugh, wants to smile, wants to shout out just how _happy_ he is to be here, with her. _Alive_. But he can't. Not if he wants to avoid ripping open his wounds.

Luckily, her grin is wide enough for the both of them.

~TBC


	4. And My Heart Still Beats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note** : The final part of the kinkmeme fill. Again, some dialogue has been borrowed directly from the game. Story and chapter titles taken from the song "Help I'm Alive" by _Metric_. I'd like thank everyone for reading, every single comment/fave/alert that I have gotten has put a smile on my face :-D Also, shouts out to the OP for the prompt that spawned this fic. It would't have been possible without you! Now, onto the conclusion!

* * *

**Part 4: And My Heart Still Beats**

* * *

Something happens to Garrus the minute they walk through the doors of her cabin. The intense, confident turian she's begun to expect disappears, and in his place is a much more somber and uncertain counterpart.

True to form, he _does_ actually sweep her room, floor to ceiling front to back, for bugs. Once he's satisfied that they have all been taken care of he turns to her. But rather than bridging the gap between their bodies like she thought (hoped) he would he stares past her. One hand reaching up to rub the space beneath his fringe and looking as nervous as she has ever seen him. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no words come out. Finally he seems to give up trying to say whatever he planned to say and turns from her to face the empty fish tank. Shoulders slumped and head bowed.

Seeing him like this makes her insides start to churn, concern forming rocks of doubt that weigh her down. It reminds her too much of how he looked when she found him on Omega earlier...and did she really just find him this morning? It doesn't seem possible. Reality has tilted so often in just one day cycle that she's a little worried about her sanity.

She, of course, had no idea that he'd be the one on the other side of that bridge when she disembarked on the lawless station so many hours ago. She doesn't want to think about what would have happened if they'd gone after the salarian doctor first, like Miranda had wanted. Doesn't want to think about what they would have found if they had waited until tomorrow... just considering it is enough to make her nauseous.

She scrubs a hand over her head to try and release some of the more unpleasant images, but it doesn't really help. It just makes her aware of the fact that her hands are shaking. _Jesus_ , she's not sure how much longer she can ride this emotional crazy train before she starts singing nursery rhymes and declaring herself a teapot. She needs something stable to help keep her grounded, and she needs it now.

She wants that something - _someone_ \- to be Garrus, _needs_ it to be him, and by the looks of things he needs that touchstone just as badly. She's still keyed up physically, her body is pulsing with unfulfilled desires, but no matter how much she'd rather save the emotional conversations for a later date it's starting to look less and less like an option.

And while she's been thinking all of this, Garrus has spent five minutes staring at an empty tank. _Great. Way to be a friend, Shepard._ With tentative steps, she crosses the short distance to the tank to stand by his side. In truth, the tank isn't completely empty: there are rocks and a few plants, but it's not exactly enthralling to watch them sway in the water. Well, it's not _that_ enthralling. "I was thinking about getting some fish. Never really had any pets before though. I'm a little worried I'll forget to take care of them and they'll die."

"I've never known you to be forgetful, Shepard. And hell, if you managed to salvage my ass when I was certain it was a lost cause, I think you can handle a few fish."

She looks at him, at his damaged profile - the lights of the cybernetics blinking through the bandages - and has to stomp down the urge to reach out to him again. She has no idea how she has gotten to this point so fast, where she has to curb her displays of affection. She can recall the number of times she touched him before today - outside of battle - on one hand. And all of them were always nothing beyond professional, platonic. She tries to cover her slight unease at the rapidly changing situation with a nervous laugh. "You give me too much credit. Killing things is more my speed, but keeping things alive? That's usually just a happy byproduct."

He doesn't say anything, but gives her a look that she can't take as anything other than him disagreeing with her. It's in the tilt of his head, the flicker of his uninjured mandible, the way that his eyes just seem to bore right through her. The look lasts for only a second before he turns his attention back to the tank.

It has the undertones of a dismissal, and that pisses her off enough to speak up. "You disagree?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. I know it may have been a while for you Garrus, but it's only been a few weeks for me. I haven't forgotten how to read you, you know. If you've got something to say, just say it."

There is no hesitation in him when he speaks. As if he has just been waiting for permission to do so. "You always have a plan, Shepard. Killing might be the method that you use to accomplish your goals more often than not, but I've seen youtalk people down from murder, from suicide. You don't kill just to kill, you do it in order to keep others alive. And when you see an alternative, _you take it_. If you weren't focused on saving the largest number of people that you could your answer to everything would always be a bullet to the brain. There's enough times when it's not for me to know that saving people isn't just a happy byproduct for you."

"You're trying to make me out to be some sort of paragon, Garrus. But I'm not. You're right, maybe I've managed to save a few people here and there. Maybe Toombs is alive because I found the right words. But I've lost a lot of good people along the way. And I seem to remember having talked someone else into _committing_ suicide, without even trying."

"Saren?" He scoffs, the sound causing a strange double-echo around the room thanks to his sub-harmonics. "Please, Shepard. We both know that was one case where death _was_ the only answer. That's not something that should weigh on you."

She snorts. "Doesn't change the fact that it does."

The look he gives her this time is long, measuring. The heat that built in his eyes while they argued dissipates and he gives her a nod. "I get that."

The lighting in the cabin doesn't change, but somehow the room feels darker when he turns away from her this time. It's as if she can actually see the visible effect of the last two years settling down on his shoulders. It makes him look older, hardened at the edges and cracked down the center. She opens her mouth to speak, but doesn't get the chance. Instead it's his quiet, almost inaudible voice, the dual-tones nearly out of sync with one another, that breaches the silence.

"So much has gone wrong these last two years. And even when I thought I had things under control, that I had a team I could rely on, that I could _trust_ \- we were doing good work, Shepard. We were making a difference. But it all blew up in my face." His laugh is harsh, cold. She hates it. "Literally. And ten good men are dead now because of my mistakes. And I thought that was it. I held my own for as long as I could, but I didn't have an exit strategy. I didn't have a _plan_. Then you showed up and, _Spirits_ , but I'm still not sure I believe it. Part of me thinks I died on that hellhole, and this is all just some kind of dream." He looks at her, the blue of his eyes bright in the light of the tank, and doubt painted like a mask over his face. "That _you_ are."

If he never looks at her like that again, like she's a figment of his imagination that is going to turn to smoke at any moment, it'll be too soon. "It's real. _I'm_ real. I can promise you that." She slips a tentative hand into one of his, and gives it a squeeze, her nerves firing anxious little bursts through every point where they touch. His eyes drop shut at the contact, and some of the icy pain radiating from him melts away. To her relief, he squeezes back.

"And I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to." Hoping to lighten the somber mood, she trys for flirty, think that she's probably failing horribly. "Judging by earlier, I'm thinking there might be a few reasons you'd like me to stick around, and they don't all have to deal with my proficiency with firearms."

That seems to surprise a subdued laugh out of him and his hand tightens around hers. That same heat from the comm room flares back to life in his eyes and his voice hits those lower registers that never fail to make her shiver. "I can think of a few. But..." And now the awkward Garrus she knows and lo... _really, really likes_...comes back out to play. "I don't know what I'm doing here, Shepard. This is...it's uncharted territory for me."

She watches the play of emotions across his face, trying to catalog them all. Uncertainty, worry, a little fear...and just a small flicker of hope. She wonders how easy all of those same emotions are for him to read on her face. It's the last one that she clings to, that she tries to project back to him. "That makes two of us. What a pair we make, huh? The blind leading the blind." She pulls on his hand just enough to get him to face her. Taking a deep breath, she lifts her free hand up to the uninjured side of his face, fluttering her fingers against his mandible with care. "But I'm still willing to try, if you are."

He presses his face into her hand, a soft sort of purr issuing from his chest. "I am. I just...I don't want to screw things up. Just this once, I want something to go right."

"Well damn, Garrus, if that was all you were worried about, why didn't you say anything?" She steps closer to him, going onto her toes so that she can ghost her lips across his mouth before pulling back, afraid to cause him any pain. "Haven't you figured out by now that we make a hell of team? I think if we put our minds to it, we could accomplish anything."

His laugh this time is louder, more joyful. He grimaces almost immediately after. His free hand going to his wound. "Ow, Shepard. Don't make me laugh."

A half-smile plays on her mouth. "Wasn't trying to, I was being serious."

"Mmm, somehow, I don't think that entering into a cross-species liaison with your best friend is quite the same thing as fighting in sync during a mission."

She arches an eyebrow, and deciding to step up her game she places his hand on her hip, and closes the gap between them again, circling her own hands around his waist. "Really? Because I gotta say, I always thought that kind of shared rhythm would play out beautifully in other areas. But if you think otherwise.."

He growls, the talons that she placed at her hip gripping her possessively as he tightens his hold, his other hand sliding into her hair. She gasps as he tugs her head back and licks a trail up from her shoulder to her ear. "I never said that I wasn't willing to _try_."

* * *

~~~\/~~~

* * *

Garrus doesn't know how they make it down the steps and across the room, he just knows that they do. A stumble here and a misstep there as they tug at each other's alien clothing. (Armor he can deal with, latches make _sense_ , but these metal teeth things that Shepard calls 'zippers'? They clearly aren't meant for someone with claws in mind. Neither are the hooks on the contraption she wears around her chest.) But they make it, kicking their shoes off along the way. Their staccato breaths heating the air between them, bodies finally bare from the waist up and greedy hands working to map every alien peak and valley.

In quick succession, he learns that her body trembles in a delicious fashion when he trails a talon over the raised mounds of flesh at her chest; while she discovers that the dip of a finger into the soft space between the plates at his waist makes him shudder.

They learn all of this while they're still standing.

By some silent, mutual agreement they both stop moving when Shepard's knees touch the side of the bed. Instead, they chose to hover at the edge, exploring, tasting, touching. Dancing at the brink of a line that they are both nervous to cross.

Garrus wants this, this unexpected intimacy. But beyond that, he wants something _real_. Something that has a chance to last. And he wants it with Shepard. He wants it with an intensity that propels it past the point of physical need and into the depths of his damaged soul until it registers as an aching sort of hunger.

And he's absolutely petrified that he's going to screw it up. He hopes she assumes the shaking in his hands as they coast along her naked back is from arousal, and not from the fear that is starting to gnaw away at him. Though he knows it's a mix of both.

He's never given any genuine thought to interspecies relationships before. And even on his darker days on Omega, when he'd venture into the endless supply of 'what if' scenarios regarding what could have (should have, would have) happened if Shepard was still alive, he never allowed them to go much further than a lingering touch or meaningful glance. Anything beyond that point just felt disrespectful to her memory, to their friendship.

To find himself in the situation he's in now, having gone embarrassingly primitive on her back on Omega - twisting the simple act of comfort she had offered, into something sexual in a matter of moments - to having her openly admit to wanting to try this with him, to the two of them half-naked and tilting towards the bed...it's hard to comprehend.

Back on Omega - hell, even back in the comm room - his adrenaline had been running so high that he hadn't cared about things like physical compatibility, chirality, or cultural differences. Or witnesses. All he'd cared about was that she was there, _alive_ , and that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. It had been a heady feeling.

Not that it isn't now. But now he's had a chance to dwell - if only for a short time - on all of the things that could go wrong. And there are just _so very many things_. It's enough to draw him up short, enough to make him start to pull back. A question on his tongue, an offer to stop this before they've gone too far, and do some research. So that they can make sure that their enthusiasm doesn't override their common sense.

But then Shepard does something with her tongue and her teeth along the underside of his uninjured mandible at the same time that she scratches her nails along the soft, unplated skin of his waist that short circuits his brain. The simultaneous stimulation causes all non-pleasure seeking neurons to seize up. Garrus growls, and ignoring any pain from his injury, he presses his mouth to hers in a mimicry of the kiss she'd given him on Omega, framing his hands on either side of her face to guide the unfamiliar act along. He swallows her sigh, and pushes forward, the taste of her bursting on his tongue in tiny explosions.

Her nimble hands drag like makeshift claws down his back. And still he keeps kissing her, entranced by the sensuality of the experience, until she bites down lightly on his tongue. And he thinks _fuck it_ , they're compatible enough. He sweeps his hands down her body, beneath her ass. Lifts and angles her, and together, they fall to the bed.

It's not a graceful fall. Her legs don't have enough time to hook around his waist, and so they tangle together with his. When they hit the mattress her head bonks against his with enough force to make them both pull back with a hiss.

Once the dazed moment of pain passes, he meets her eyes and fines them shining. The crinkly skin at their edges matching the lines framing her smiling mouth. Another moment passes and they are both laughing, curled up with one another. Her head buried against his chest, as he laughs into the silken mess of her hair.

Rather than feeling appalled, Garrus is grateful. The laughter does them some good, easing the heavy tension that had built between them until they are wading in a warm pool of familiarity. He's never held her like this before, of course, but this simple enjoyment they feel at being together is something that had grown between them on the first _Normandy_. Just...not to this extent.

The laughter dies down and he smooths a hand over her side, nuzzling against her neck - thrilled at how she unconsciously tilts her head up to make the action easier. "That maneuver worked a lot better in my head."

She breathes out more of those happy noises that he loves, her talented fingers playing at his fringe. "I don't know, I think it went just fine."

"Mmm, so you enjoy sustaining minor injuries mid-romance? Good to know."

She presses a hand to his chest, pushing him far enough away that he can see the incredulous look on her face. "Garrus, I let you strip me down in the middle of a firefight, I think it's safe to say that a hint of danger does it for me."

He chuckles. "Maybe we should work on finding a happy medium. Say somewhere between accidentally clobbering our heads together, and getting shot because we're too busy fooling around on the battlefield." He leans back into her neck, trailing his tongue along the dip at her shoulder and down towards her clavicle. Centering all of his attention on the arch of bone beneath the skin there, pushing her down onto her back as he licks a slow path from one side to the other.

She releases a pleased sort of moan. "That would probably be best. Especially since I already promised Miranda I would stay fully dressed while out on missions from now on."

Surprised, he lifts his gaze back to hers. "Really? When did she pry that out of you?"

One of her hands takes advantage of his momentary distraction to ease down his chest to the clasps that hold the bottom of his civvies up. The way she toys with them while she speaks is positively maddening. "Somewhere between homicidal mercs number fifty and seventy-six, I think." The way that she pops open the clasps and slips her hand along the top of his pelvic plates beneath the cloth brings him into full-on incoherency. "Does it matter?"

His response is stuttered out between pants. "N-No...it..it doesn't...Shep-Shepard..." Her fingers dip lower, just edging along where his arousal has made itself fully known, a teasing touch. It makes him arch towards her, seeking more direct contact. Absurdly, that is when the very last bit of his reasoning exerts itself, forcing him to try and halt her ministrations. "Wait - we... _Spirits_ that feels good...no, I mean...stop, please. I can't think when you're doing that."

"That's kinda the point." Her voice is breathy, but she does stop. Pulling her hand away, and laying it at his waist instead. It's a moderate improvement.

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts and form them into words that make some kind of sense. "I've never...with a human. There could be, uh, complications. Maybe we should..." Her lips slide along his neck, up to his mouth. If he was capable of any emotion more complex than lust when she does that he'd be amazed at how easily tangling his tongue with hers has become instinctual. As it is, he's too lost in the sensation to really register the fact.

She ends the kiss abruptly, leaning up to touch her forehead to his. Her breathing harsh. "Garrus, if neither of us have had any negative reactions so far, with all of the saliva that we've exchanged? I'm thinking that we're good. And...judging by what else I've felt? I don't think we have much else to worry about."

Her hand delves back beneath his half opened civvies, and traces the exposed length of him with the tips of her fingers. He gasps at the contact, eyes going wide and locking on her heated gaze staring back at him. "So stop worrying."

With a growl, he kisses her again. He's quickly found himself addicted to the act, to the taste of her, at the way that she responds: mewling into his mouth and raising one of her legs up the outside of his, the material of their pants scratching together. Impatient now, he tugs at the clothing, earning a surprised laugh from her as her hand slides away from his erection as he moves down her body, determined to get the troublesome article off of her as soon as possible.

Garrus drags his talons along the length of her legs as he pulls the material down - snagging her undergarments along the way - not deep enough to cut, but with enough pressure to make her body go taut as she arches into him. His tongue follows an unmapped path down her torso as he moves. He might have no experience with breasts - only the vaguest of ideas from time spent around asari over the years - but he remembers how she had moaned when he touched the tips of them with his talons. He puts that memory to good use and swirls his tongue around one, watching with fascination as it pebbles, noting how her body flushes with warmth and her hands clench at his cowl and fringe.

He laps at the sweat that pools beneath the curve, follows it down to gently nip at the length of her lower rib; enjoying how it presses against the thin layers of skin and muscle, so different from a turian. She moans, and his arousal spikes further.

"Garrus..." She pulls at him until they are kissing again, the damaged side of his face throbs from the over-exertion, but he buries the pain to be dealt with later. His hand rubs her leg, moving in a steady pace towards her center. Nerves slowing his approach, no matter how great the physical need to move fast - to be with her now now _now_ \- may be. He wants to get this right, and that means taking his time.

With strained patience, he traces a talon along the inside of her thigh and up, reveling in the way that her breath catches and releases as she buries her face against his neck. Her hands grasp at him, pulling him closer, until he is almost lying lengthwise atop her. Their bodies shifted just a tad out of alignment.

His talons tangle gently with a patch of coarse hair, nothing like the kind that decorates her head, but intriguing in a different way. Finds her there, hot and wet and pliable to the touch. He slides his hand along her slit, tipping his finger lightly between the folds that he encounters, but goes no further - instead he waits to gauge her reaction, stroking her with even-paced caresses.

She squirms, her eyes shut tight. Little noises of almost frustrated sounding pleasure emitting from her. He watches her with awe, amazed at the reactions he is able to evoke in her, but even more amazed that she is willing to let herself go like this with him, that she wants to be here with him at all.

That she is _here_ at all.

But he wants more. Wants to see her break and shatter, fall apart and come back together around him. Because without even trying, that's what she's already done to him. And he knows that without her guidance, he'll be unable to do more than fumble his way there, if he even can. That's not what he wants. And it's not what she _needs_. He rubs the uninjured side of his face against her cheek, the affection that he feels for her almost overwhelming, and he knows that the desperation that laces his sub-vocals as he speaks is abundantly clear. "Show me."

She gasps, and then she does.

One of her hands reaches down to join his, and guides him along. "There...right...right there." She shows him how much pressure to add to a little bundle of flesh that he hadn't yet encountered, surprising him with the very vocal and incoherent cry that she gives when he does.

Curious, he ghosts his finger against it. Once, twice, three times. More. Alternately circling it and rubbing - enthralled with her very visible and audible reactions. Her head thrashes back and forth, hands clamping down on his upper arms. Those dull nails of hers prying at his plates almost to the point of pain. Short, gasped words _please and yes and there, right there!_ escaping her with each touch.

He darts his tongue out to catch the beads of sweat that gather at her cheek to roll down her chin. Her taste still alien, and sweet. One of many new favorite things.

His confidence builds, seeing her like this. Knowing that he's at least partially responsible. He keeps some of his attention still focused on the spot that has her panting against him, but then he also carefully slips a talon between her folds, curving the digit upwards until it is enveloped in her warmth.

And _Spirits_ , but she is warm. He groans at the way her inner muscles clamp down greedily around him, mindlessly thrusting his erection against her hip in time with his finger inside of her, the urge to be buried within her reaching a fevered pitch. But he quells it the best he can, determined to see this through and not behave like a wet behind the ears recruit.

He nuzzles at her neck, her cheek, her jaw - anything to distract him. The action allows him to take in the scent of her, the subtle way that it changes with her heightened arousal. He focuses on the way that she shudders and shakes in his arms as he brings her (hopefully) towards her peak.

When she reaches it, it is with a shout of his name and the tightening of her muscles all over. He growls in pleasure at her response, and quickly loses the uphill battle he has been fighting with his instincts, working his pants down his legs and off over his spurs, and moving to lay over her only to have his progress halted by a hand to his chest.

She pushes at him, dislodging his body from over hers - and for a heart stopping second, he thinks that he has hurt her, that he has done something wrong, and that this will all be over before it's even begun - but as she rolls him onto his back, she follows. One of her legs swinging over his waist and settling down on the other side until she is straddling him. She flattens her body against him, trapping his aroused length between their bodies as she kisses him again, humming into his mouth. He grasps the flesh of her hips, enjoying the way it gives just a little in his grip as he pulls her tight against him.

"Mmm, that was...you're a very quick study, Garrus Vakarian." She nips at his mouth, then his mandible, making him groan. "Now, let's see how I do."

Whatever witty remark he may have said is lost when her hand wraps around him and squeezes. The sound he makes is an embarrassing cross between a whine and a howl.

"That's good, I take it?"

"Uhh...hmmm..." He can't speak, he can't even understand why she would ask him to, what with the mindlessness that comes with the sort of pleasure she is giving him. That hand of hers - with so many extra fingers - sliding and tugging at him in a way that is almost too good to be real. Her palm so much softer, smoother than that of a turian. Her other hand tracing the edges of his plates, scratching along the unprotected skin between them.

He has no idea how she knows to do that, but he's infinitely grateful that she's doing it all the same. His body starts to go into sensory overload when she sucks on the sensitive skin of his neck, pulling it into her mouth and nibbling on it with blunt teeth. His hips rock upwards, seeking more contact, more friction...more of her.

And somehow, he finds that he's not above begging. "Shepard, _please_."

She kisses a track back up towards his ear. "Tell me what you need, Garrus."

She strokes him again, up then down, an uneven pace that makes it hard for him breathe. "You, just you. Please."

She sighs against the side of his face. "Okay."

And then she's shifting and lifting herself over him, guiding him towards her entrance. Both of her hands press to his chest, one landing over his heart - where he thinks it might beat itself free from its cage - as she eases herself down onto him. The slick tightness of her threatens to break the loose grip he has on his self-control.

Then she moves, and he is lost.

She rides him, but he isn't passive. Almost without thought he sits up, wrapping one arm around her body; the other finding the tangle of her hair at the nape of her neck. Her legs snake around him, over the hollow of his hips, as she seeks leverage to rise and fall over him. Slipping almost all the way off of him before sliding back down, her hips rotating with each pass up and down that she makes.

He presses his face to her neck, his hand at her back moving to the dip above her ass, holding her tight to him as he thrusts upwards, not quite matching the pace she tries to set. His legs rise up to help support her as she leans back, holding her in a position reminiscent of the one they shared on Omega, but different in a few very key aspects. The new hold changes the angle of her downward thrusts, forcing a shameless moan from him and a shuddering cry from her. Judging by the way that she starts to tremble in his arms, he has to assume that the change in position is as pleasurable for her as it is for him.

All concept of time leaves him, along with his worries and doubts. They become nothing more than abstract concepts as together, the two of them seek their pleasure in one imperfect joining that he hopes is the start of something that will last.

She babbles nonsensical words between every thrust. Words that are echoed by his own desperate pleas. The words themselves less important than the meaning behind them. _You're real you're alive you're here please don't leave never..._

Her cry of 'Garrus' and his of her name are the only two that really make any sense, the only words that are clear. The only ones that matter.

The feeling of her when she clamps down around him, a sob leaving her throat as she climaxes again, fills him with an even more primal sort of lust. He grunts and rolls them over, until he is nestled fully between her thighs, her legs still locked around him. The heels of her feet dig into his back as he drives into her, the pace almost brutal as he slips his hands beneath her ass to angle her towards him. Her vocalizations turn as heated and wanton as his own with the change.

She cries out, muffling the noise against his throat. He roars when she bites down, losing all semblance of rhythm and pressing forward in a series of quick, deep thrusts as he finds his release in the depths of her body.

He clutches her to him, shaking. His breathing harsh and irregular. For a moment, he fears that he will wake up and discover that he's still on Omega. Bleeding out around the remains of his squad, and that Shepard's return was nothing more than the hallucination of a dying man. But she presses a hand to his face, turning him to face her so that she can give him a soft, lingering kiss, and he thinks that the Spirits couldn't possibly be so cruel as to take this from him now, even if it's not real.

Sated and exhausted (When was the last time he slept without being sedated? He has no idea...) he slides down her body, dropping his head against her chest. Pressed as close to her as he is he can feel the rapid beat of her heart, off-time from his own but still similar. So much between them is similar, despite all the obvious differences. Hard plating and soft skin, both covering the soldiers within - they're really not that different, he thinks.

One of his hands seeks out hers, finds it by the side of her head. Their fingers link together - that grip that he knows he now loves - and he feels his heart swell when she squeezes his hand. Her other hand lands on his neck, dancing fingers making playful little strokes up along the fringe. He hums in contentment, stroking his free hand along her side, settling it at her hip.

"Hey, Garrus?"

"Hmm?"

"As much as I would like nothing more than to be your pillow, you're kind of heavy. Would you mind..."

"Oh! Sorry. Yeah. I'll just-" He starts to pull back from her, only for his limbs tell him no, that's not going to work. Instead, he slides off of her and lays on his side. She follows him a moment later, curving her body into his.

There's a slickness between their bodies, sweat and other bodily fluids mingling together. He winces at the thought of falling asleep like that, but he can't seem to make his body move. He figures she must be thinking along the same lines when she squeezes his hand once again and moves to stand. "Be right back."

"'kay." His tongue feels sluggish with fatigue, the weight of everything that has been holding him down lately finally easing as he starts to drift off. It could be minutes or hours before she returns, he's not really aware enough to tell. He just knows that at some point she returns. A warm, soft material swiping over his lower plates, cleaning him. He rumbles out his appreciation. Moments later she climbs back into the bed with him, jostling him as she fits her body to his. Her back to his chest. Blindly, he slings an arm over her, pulling her close. He nuzzles his face into her hair, drawing in that warmth and scent that is uniquely hers. "You're still real, right?"

She laughs, a soft happy sound that he immediately decides he adores. "Yes, Garrus. I'm real. I promise."

"Good." He tightens his hold on her, squeezing. "Do you mind if I -"

She taps her hand against his knuckles, silencing him. "You try and go anywhere, Garrus, and I'll cuff you to this bed."

"Mmm, maybe later. Wake me in an hour or two, and we'll see."

"I'll hold you to that, Officer."

They lapse into silence after that, Shepard's breathing slowing down to a pace close to his own. Without his bidding, a few words slip from his mind to his mouth. "I missed you."

"...I missed you, too."

His heart speeds up at the admission, before settling down into a place of peace where he can't fight the allure of unconsciousness anymore. But that's okay. Because she's here. She's real. She's _alive_. She's not going anywhere.

And neither is he.

~End.


End file.
